Match Breaker
by Sacred Dust
Summary: What if Daria and Tom didn't start dating right after 'Dye! Dye! My Darling' ? One small difference could have changed everything. (Set after the end of Season 4 and rated T for language and adult situations.)
1. Decision

_This one wormed its way into my head a little while ago and wouldn't leave, so I wrote it down. Now that I look at it, it seems wrong. But not as much as it seems right. ;)_

Chapter 1: Decision

"Are we still friends?" Daria asked lamely. Jane didn't reply. Maybe she was wondering the same thing. "Are we?"  
Jane sounded exhausted. "Yeah. We're the kind of friends who can't stand the sight of each other."  
Daria swallowed hard. "Temporarily, right?"  
"I hope so, Daria. I'll see you."  
She closed the door on her way out. Daria trudged up to her room, lost in her thoughts.  
Not until she was gone did Quinn slowly peek out from the kitchen.

She climbed the stairs on tiptoe and slipped into her bedroom. Bright, happy colors and smiley faces greeted her from all sides. Her stricken expression didn't match.  
What the hell was going on? Daria and Jane on the outs? Over a _boy?_ Did somebody switch them with her and Sandi?  
She spied one of her textbooks and cautiously opened the cover with one finger. Nope, still confusing. She wasn't Daria.  
Quinn paced.  
That weird question Daria asked her suddenly made a lot more sense. So she really did kiss her best friend's boyfriend, and she must have admitted it too. Was she crazy?!  
_Why do I care?_ was her next thought. Then, a long moment later, _why does it matter why I care?_  
Time passed; she wasn't sure how much. She was still pacing when the phone rang.

Daria lay motionless on her bed, studying the ceiling for answers that wouldn't come. She didn't want to talk to anyone until they did.  
"Quinn!" she called. _Ring._ "Quinn! Telephone!" _Ring._ "Oh, hell with it." She silently cursed her sister, whatever she may be doing, and reached for the receiver.  
The ringing stopped.  
With a sigh of relief, she returned to her busy social life.

"Hello?" Quinn said absently. For once she didn't care who was on the other end.  
"Hi," A guy replied. She couldn't place his voice, but most guys sounded alike on the phone anyway. "Could I please speak to Daria?"  
A guy? For Daria? What guy would ever be calling...  
_No way_, she thought. "Um...sure. Can I ask who's calling?"  
"It's Tom," he said after a slight pause. "I'm a friend of hers."  
Jane's boyfriend? Quinn paused as the implications sank in. The same one Jane said Daria made out with? The same one who made her sister's only friendship as over as bell bottoms? And now he was _calling_ her, the next day? What kind of sleazy guy did that?  
Even a brain deserved better than this.  
As the seconds ticked by and Tom kept saying "hello?," it slowly dawned on Quinn that she was about to do something nice for her sister. For free. Her heart pounded like a cash register on Black Friday.  
She brought the receiver back up to her ear. "...Daria doesn't want to talk to you."  
She hung up before he could say any more and stood there, staring at the phone as if daring the jerk to call back. He didn't.  
Quinn lay down and tried unsuccessfully to lose herself in a fashion rag, wondering if this rare gesture would end up making any difference.  
_...Nah._


	2. Are We Friends Yet?

Chapter 2: Are We Friends Yet?

"I think I'm finally finding out what it feels like to be a Lane," Daria said as they walked to her best friend's locker.  
Jane stayed one step ahead of her. "That can't be. It's only the afternoon and you're already out of bed."  
"I mean the lack of tiresome parental involvement. Mine have been so busy they've completely forgotten to force me into some dumb summer activity, and my sibling actually isn't bothering me. Much. I'm turning into you."  
Jane raised an eyebrow as she pried open her locker. "What about your budding social life?"  
Daria returned her gaze. "That's not funny."  
"There's one thing we can both agree on."  
"...I haven't even talked to him."  
Jane shoveled unused notebooks and art supplies into her backpack. "What, he hasn't called _you?_ No loving serenades, no excuses? Not even an apology?"  
"Not that I know of."  
"Doesn't sound like him," the artist continued down the hall, anxious to escape on the last day of their junior year. Suddenly she turned around and looked closer at Daria than she had in several days. "So what if he does call? Better yet, what if he asks you out? Not that it's _my_ business anymore."  
"Um..." Daria was uncharacteristically speechless. She wanted to say "no," but it wouldn't come. Maybe she wouldn't know until it happened.  
"At least you're honest. Look, I'm going out of town to an artists' colony for a few months," Jane sighed. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to jinx it, but I got in. When you make up your mind...have Trent drive you up there."  
She reluctantly handed over a brochure with the address.  
" 'Ashfield Community for the Arts' ?" Daria studied it dubiously. "Well, it sounds better than 'Former Hippie Commune in the Middle of Nowhere'."  
Jane almost smiled. "Bingo. One of my mom's old friends runs the place. If the rest of that crowd is like her, I might even be glad to see you. But no promises."  
They said some awkward goodbyes and parted ways.

Daria was quieter than usual the next morning. A joke about food poisoning came to mind when Dad complained about his waffles being past their sell-by date, but her heart wasn't in it. He and Mom were soon on their way, leaving only her and Quinn to finish in silence.  
"What did you say, Daria?" Quinn said suddenly.  
"Huh?"  
"Speak up, I can't hear you!"  
"I didn't say anything, Quinn," she said glumly. "I'm going to go up to my room now and pretend I don't exist. Meanwhile, you might want to get your inner ear checked."  
"OH-kay,_ fine,_ I'll take your dishes to the sink for you just this once," Quinn snapped. "But I can't be your maid every day, okay?! It's bad for my nails. Oh, and if someone comes to the door tomorrow it's probably my tutor."  
Daria blinked as Quinn whisked away the dishes and waltzed upstairs, probably to grab her purse or coordinate a shopping spree.  
That was weird. Did she just do something...considerate? And say the word 'tutor'?  
Forget it. On top of everything else happening lately, that idea was too much to wrap her head around.

The more Tom thought about it, the less surprised he was that Daria didn't want to speak to him right now. They couldn't have started off this relationship much worse than they did-if it even was a relationship. But what he felt when he spoke to her, the unspoken understanding that drew them together...that was real.  
_I'll never forget it if I don't give this the old college try,_ he decided. _...Not just any college, of course._  
He stared at his phone for a few hours while his father left for golf and his mother went to lunch with some of the shareholders' wives. Finally, he picked it up and dialed.  
"Come on, Daria," he mumbled. "At least let me say I'm sorry."  
One ring, then two, then-click.  
_"Hiii, Stacy! I was just about to call you. God, did you see what Brooke was wearing yesterday?! I can't believe Sandi was going to nominate her for membership. Not that I'm saying she was wrong or anything, but-"_  
"Quinn?" he interjected. Finally he remembered her name. "It's Tom. I'm sorry to bother you again, but I really need to-"  
Her tone immediately changed. _"Who?! Uh-oh can't you hear bad connection better turn off your phone and try again later bye!"_  
"QUINN-" Dial tone. Tom gritted his teeth and tried again.  
She was less friendly this time. _"Tuh-OMMM! We do have 911 on our speed dial."_  
"I'm not stalking anybody!" he snapped. "Look, I don't think you understand everything that's going on."  
_"Tom, I hate to tip my ace, but an instance of sleazy backstabbing? I think I understand THAT. Now quit hogging the line, I'm expecting a call. Well, more than one, actually..."_  
Tom felt his eyebrow starting to twitch. "Quinn, I'm not going to stop until you let me talk to Daria."  
_"Okay, I'll remember to give her that message. Byyyye!" _  
_Click._  
He slammed down the phone and began to dial again, before realizing she did sound like the kind of airhead who would call the cops on a whim, and frivolous or not, it was the last thing he needed right now.  
Was Daria so angry at him that she was having her annoying sister screen all her calls? Jane said they didn't even get along. The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed.  
Either way, she seemed to jump on the phone every time it rang. He would have to think of something else.

She _was_ staring to feel a little guilty about it. Quinn only vaguely remembered what Tom looked like from the few times she had seen him, but he didn't sound like the kind of creep who would cheat on someone with her best friend. And he was probably right about there being more to this than met her impeccably mascara'd eye.  
The real issue was Daria. Even Quinn could see she had enough to worry about. Like not sinking through the floor if she sat still too long. Quinn wanted to help, but if she admitted she was helping and it got out, her reputation might take all summer to recover. She decided she would just have to endure Tom until he gave up.  
"I was going to enter Daria as a volunteer for the camp that creepy man was talking about," she overheard Mom telling Dad. "But honestly, she's in such a state these days I think she would depress the children."  
Well, at least Mr. O'Neill had done one good deed: he (and her lousy P-STAT score) had convinced Quinn to get a tutor. She'd been too distracted to break the news to the Fashion Club.  
She stood in front of the mirror and began rehearsing. "Hi, Sandi! HIIII, San-dee! SAN-deeee, how are you?!..."


	3. Ripple Effect

_Since Daria is unoccupied this summer, I'm starting to wonder what else might change in this story and what might stay the same. Along with the main plot, those are other possibilities I find very intriguing._

Chapter 3: Ripple Effect

"Hey, Janie."  
"Huh?"  
"Are you okay?"  
The Tank was bouncing and lurching along a remote Pennsylvania highway on their way to Ashfield. So far Jane had endured the ride in stony silence.  
"You mean, have I coughed up any vital organs? Maybe in another twenty miles." she said crossly.  
"I mean, are _you_ okay."  
She crossed her arms. "What do you mean? I'm fine. What makes you think I'm not fine?"  
"Nothing." he shrugged.  
"Well, I _am_ fine, dammit."  
"Okay." Three, two, one...  
"I mean, where does he get off even dropping by her house in the first place?! Why didn't he step out of the car to talk to her?"  
"Um..."  
"Did he even knock on the door or did he just _wait_ for her to come home?"  
"I..."  
Jane clenched her fists. "And what about her? I know it sounds crazy, but what if she knew he was going to be there? I mean, if he surprised her, why would she even get in the car? Why..."  
Trent cut in as the Tank hit a pothole, forcing her to stop for breath."Janie, you're gonna drive yourself nuts with that stuff. Daria's not that kind of girl, you know?"  
"I know!" Jane growled. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I hate being this way."  
"Besides, you had me drive you out here to get away, right?"  
"If 'driving' is what you call this," she agreed, wincing as he swerved around a cardboard box and nearly leveled a road sign.  
"So if you keep worrying about everything, you're not really getting away."  
She stared moodily out the window.  
"Plus, it's not like Daria's going out with him already. Right?"  
"That's it, _hermano_. No more lectures," Jane said. "Anyway, don't you have to do stuff to be able to give out life advice? Set an example and everything?"  
Surprisingly, Jane thought, he seemed to be thinking about it. Or about something, anyway.  
"Why not this summer? Come on, we'll suffer outside together."  
"Heh. Maybe I am doing something."  
She looked inquiring.  
"I'll tell you later," Trent added. "Once I decide what it is. Just promise me you'll try to relax out here."  
She peered suspiciously through the windshield as they approached the colony at last. "That shouldn't be hard. If the place were any more relaxed, it would have fallen apart already."  
"That's your first painting, right there." He smiled. She returned it. "Come back soon."  
"Getting sentimental in your old age?"  
"...You're the only one who can balance Mom's checkbook."

When Daria opened her eyes again, it was shortly after 3.  
She really should be showering and cleaning her room, or at least making a safe path from the door to the bed. On the other hand, neglecting those duties would encourage people to stay away, and that was a good thing right now.  
She counted the spots in the gray ceiling and reviewed her situation: sister acting strange, parents too busy to help, best friend ticked off and absent, crush gone AWOL. And sooner or later, she would have to make a decision. Jane would wait for her, but not forever.  
Was it possible to date Tom and keep Jane as a friend? Did she even want to juggle both of them? Her social energy, as she thought of it, had its limits. And they couldn't hang out _together,_ not after a disaster like this. The three of them were not a package deal at the best of times.  
"Time heals all," the old saying went. Daria didn't know about that. But time was helping her make sense of things, just a little.  
She felt around under the bed for a spare notebook and found an open page. Nothing was coming to her, but she couldn't tear herself away. She stared at it until the sunlight began to fade from the room.  
Finally she heard a knock on her door. She didn't bother answering; it was probably Mom, with questions she couldn't answer or advice she didn't want.  
"DAH-riaaaa!" It was Quinn. "Geez, open up already or I'm gonna get in trouble!"  
_And the downside is?_ Daria smirked. It was the first time she had smiled in days. Grudgingly, she dragged herself out of bed and unlocked the door.  
Quinn was standing there impatiently with a plate of lasagna and broccoli. "Mom told me to give you this. She says you can hide up here if you want but you do have to eat something."  
Daria accepted, staring at the plate as if she'd forgotten what food was.  
"I'll come back in a while for the dishes, okay?" she looked into the room and wrinkled her nose. "And believe me, I don't like it any more than you do. Ick."  
Daria nodded and closed the door.

Quinn stood there for a minute, biting her lip, and walked back to her room.  
_I'm worried about you_, she wanted to say. But that wasn't how things worked between them, and never had been. At least there were some things she could do to help without embarrassing either one of them.  
Speaking of which...the phone was ringing.  
Quinn ran to pick it up before Mom did. She wouldn't understand.  
_"Hello? Daria? Mrs. Morgendorffer?"_  
"Checkmate, Tom." she said wryly.  
She heard him sigh on the other end. _"Quinn, do you even know what that means?"_  
"Duh!" she said indignantly. "...It's what your king says when his head hurts and he wants to play checkers instead."  
_"No, that's probably you,"_ he said. Pause. _"How long are we going to do this, anyway?"_  
"Wow! That's, like, exactly what I was going to ask you."  
_"Quinn, just hear me out, okay? I didn't mean for this to happen. It was-"_  
"Yeah yeah, you just happened to come over when she just happened to be walking home and we just happened to be busy with the Blush-a-Thon finals, and you just happened to hang around after you came to the door and I said she wasn't home..."  
Tom paused again, as if he was mentally counting to ten. _"You said it was okay for me to wait outside! Of course I meant to TALK to her. I DIDN'T mean to-"_  
"Too much information, Tom!" she cried nervously. "La la la, I'm not _listeninnnng!"_  
_"...Fine. Just tell me this. Has she SAID she doesn't want to talk to me?"_  
Quinn glanced nervously back and forth. "Ha ha! Oh, _Tom._ You ask so many silly questions."  
He sounded suspicious. _"And the answer is...?"_  
"The answer is, my mom's a lawyer and the next time you call here, I'm giving _her_ the phone, Now goodbye." She hung up.  
There. That would be enough to get rid of him, Quinn thought as she picked up her datebook and checked tomorrow's engagements ('shopping 11 AM-yay!', 'after-shopping FC meeting Sandi's 2PM-BOO', 'Tutor 3:30 PM, hope he's at least semi-cute!'). The only question was, what if Daria called him after all?  
As an old aerobics teacher used to say, she would do that bridge when she came to it.

"Good evening, everyone!" Timothy O'Neill chirped in his usual manner. "This meeting of the Okay To Cry Corral counselors will now begin!"  
Anthony DeMartino and a few Lawndale High students stared back at him, looking rather nonplussed. "Er, TIMothy. Seeing as we're not expecting any more volunteers for this LEGALIZED TORTURE-I mean, growing, sharing experience...might I SUGGEST that we save the pep talks for TOMORROW, when we're stuck with a busload of spoiled, excessively sheltered IMPS?!"  
"Um...hey," said a low, sleepy voice from the doorway. "Is this where we volunteer and stuff? 'Cause if it's not...you know. Whatever."  
O'Neill's face lit up with a genuine smile; DeMartino just looked stunned. "Why, Mistah LANE. I believe this is the LAST place we ever expected to see YOU again."  
"Me, too," Trent shrugged and held up his guitar. "We get to sing songs, right?"


	4. A Matter of Time

Chapter 4: A Matter of Time

Tom stared at the phone for a moment before he tossed it into the corner and fell back on his bed.  
This was getting ridiculous. He knew he should have waited longer before calling back. Maybe another week, or a month. Hell, maybe another century would do it. He tried to imagine still calling the house fifty years later and Quinn still putting him off, and laughed helplessly.  
He really liked Daria Morgendorffer, and he knew that she liked him. What killed him was that gnawing fear in the back of his mind, that he had messed things up badly enough to lose both her and Jane.  
_Because of one kiss,_ he just had to remind himself. _One bad decision._  
As the increasingly depressing moment played on and on in his head, Tom remembered his parents' liquor cabinet. He didn't go there often, but...well, they were out tonight, and this had been a bad day. Or a 'special occasion', as his sister would call it  
He jogged downstairs into the parlor to find that he had company. "Speak of the she-devil."  
"I love you too, dear Thomas." the short, slender brunette derisively raised her glass. It was half filled with what appeared to be neat brandy.  
"Jesus, Elsie. Even Mom doesn't take that much."  
"Mother is a lightweight and you know it," she put down her magazine and gestured to an old armchair nearby. "There's room for one more, if you insist on babysitting me."  
Tom snuck a wine cooler out of the private fridge. "Gee, as much as I'd like to be grounded for the rest of my life, I think I'll just take this and get out. Besides, you've had enough." He could always tell. The more she drank, the nicer she was.  
"You never drink with me," she said reproachfully. "Look, they'll never catch us. You know they always come home through the back. I've had an absolutely hellish last day at Fielding and I need company. Even if it's yours."  
He hesistated.  
"I'll make you a deal. Sit with me tonight, and tomorrow I throw on my worst clothes and accompany you to Lawndale. I'll even ride in that deathtrap you call a car."  
"What for? You've never been interested in Lawndale."  
Elsie looked wounded. "On the contrary, Tom! I'm dying to see these Elysian Fields of suburbia that have kept you away from home so many nights. Or did I do that all by myself?"  
Tom chuckled. Why not? His sister was a headache sometimes, but anything would be better than staring at the phone all day.  
"All right, it's a deal," he raised his bottle and took a seat. "But that's your last glass."  
"Killjoy."

"Well WELL, Trent," Mr. DeMartino ground out as the musician dragged himself onto the bus. "As surprised as I was to see you last night, I must say I'm even MORE surprised to see you back this morning."  
"I know. I stayed up all night just so I wouldn't oversleep."  
The history teacher smirked. "I see you haven't changed since your high school days of unapologetic SLOTH and chronic TRUANCY!"  
"Well, I think it's wonderful to have you here!" Mr. O'Neill said excitedly. "You're just in time to go pick up all the campers with us. I can't wait to see you go out there and make a difference in their lives. Say, you're the musician-tell us which song we should all sing along to first! Um...Trent?"  
He was asleep already.  
DeMartino envied him.

Unfortunately for Jane, she was fully conscious for faux-famous artist Daniel Dotson's lecture.  
"When I unveiled 'Paper Plate Genocide' in 1991, it was hailed as intriguing, provocative, even brilliant. And not just by me." Dotson gestured smugly to three spears impaling several paper plates.  
He might have a sense of humor, Jane decided, but he was still a pompous hack.  
Not that pomposity was exclusive to him. On the contrary, it was like a disease running rampant through the entire colony. Many of Jane's fellow students were poor to middling talents who cared more about looking the part, debating styles, and hooking up with gallery owners than creating great art. Instructors like Dotson were all too happy to help them along in exchange for special favors-the kind Jane had no intention of doing for anyone, at least not until move-in day at college.  
She'd thought of breaking that rule for Tom, but only during a few sleepless nights when their relationship was dying. Looking back, she was glad she never got that desperate to delay the inevitable.  
Jane thought Ashfield would be a haven from Lawndale, from everything. But it resembled school too much for her liking, except there was no Daria to mock it with, and maybe there never would be again.  
Dotson was still talking. "We all know critics tend to get carried away. But really, what _was_ I thinking when I created a work that seems to have turned out both seminal and semiotic?"  
" 'I can't believe I'm getting away with this?' " Jane found herself mumbling out loud. Fortunately she was too far back to be heard.  
From the corner of her eye, she saw an attractive brunette looking her way.  
As the hack finally opened the floor to questions and a student asked him where he got his inspiration, the brunette muttered a sardonic answer of her own-"my alimony bills?"-and Jane finally had something to smile about.  
The girl introduced herself immediately at the end of class. "Hi. I'm Alison."  
"Jane."

Daria had finally grabbed a shower and some fresh clothes, but she still felt dirty. Sleep had been nearly impossible last night with all the "what ifs" rushing through her mind. What if she never got in the car, what if she didn't come home until later, what if he had listened to her and just left. The more she thought, the more it exhausted her.  
"At this rate, I'll be Fashion Club material in no time," she said to her reflection in the window. "Which is my best side? I know they're both good."  
_Knock knock._  
"Sorry. I'll be right back," she told herself, and went to open the door. "Oh. We were just talking about you."  
Quinn stared at her. "Huh?"  
"Nothing."  
"Mom said to give you these." Quinn handed Daria some slightly burned sugar tarts and milk.  
"Peachy. I need to ask you something. It's, um, dating-related."  
Her sister looked a tad apprehensive. "Okay."  
"Let's say you have a good friend who actually gives a damn about you. And you also have a guy you really like and this might be your only chance with him. And you're pretty sure you can only keep one of them. Who do you choose?"  
"Between Sandi and Casey from Boyz R Guyz? Are you crazy?! _Totally_ Casey." Quinn said dreamily. "It's only a matter of time..."  
Daria was nonplussed. "Thank you. That was very enlightening."  
She pushed the door closed and stared moodily at her sugar tarts.  
"Daria?" Quinn called a minute later.  
"I'm not done yet. Come back in an hour. Or a year, maybe."  
"Look, if you're like really serious about that question..." Quinn said through the door. Daria waited. "I'd keep the friend. Because new guys come along all the time, but it's way harder to find a new friend. Especially one with bouncy hair."  
Daria nodded slowly, as if Quinn could see her.  
"I have to run one last errand before my tutor gets here. Byyye!"  
"...Bye." Daria muttered after she had gone.  
Slowly but surely, the mental fog began to lift.

Elsie stood with a look of tired trepidation, as if she had already resigned herself to hell but was afraid to step through the fiery gates.  
"Come on," Tom called encouragingly from the car. "It's better than the Pinto, right?"  
Quite. Instead of going in an explosion, she'd die of embarrassment. Even in her most inconspicuous outfit-tight jeans and a white polo shirt, unadorned with designer logo or matching sweater-she was having doubts. But she hadn't been among "the masses" since last year, when their parents stopped at a McDonald's for kicks (terrible food, but interesting), and certainly she'd never been to Lawndale. Sobriety and a good night's sleep had only slightly dampened her curiosity.  
She slid gingerly into the old Jaguar and closed the door.  
"There, was that so hard?" Tom winked.  
"Yes," she tried to sound bored. "Go on, let's get this over with."  
They drove off into the summer haze.


	5. It's OK to Cry--Indoors

Chapter 5: It's Okay to Cry...Indoors

"Greetings, and welcome to the Okay to Cry Corral," Mr. O'Neill said soothingly to a hall full of restless kids. "I'm Uncle Timothy, and together, we're going to take a journey to the land of self-discovery. A land where it's okay to laugh, and it's okay...to _cry."_  
Trent frowned contemplatively. _It's okay to cry... I can't see the sky... Why won't I die?... Who ate all the pie? Nah, that doesn't quite fit._  
"And now, I'd like my co-counselors, Trent and Uncle Anthony, to say a few words about what they hope to accomplish here."  
"Oh, after YOU, Trent." DeMartino said.  
"No problem, Grandpa Anthony," Trent said sleepily. The kids tittered; the teacher's eye bulged slightly. "Um, hey. I'm here to play music and stuff, 'cause my sister says I should get out of the house this summer." He held up his guitar.  
"Play something!" Several children shouted.  
O'Neill stepped in. "Now now campers, sing-along time is later." Groans all around.  
Trent looked over the crowd while DeMartino growled something about rediscovering the joys of teaching. The kids looked pretty cool, just bored. He saw one on the tallish side with brown curly hair and glasses, who was leaning his chin on his arms. He never looked up, even when O'Neill told them to make something with string and assigned Trent to that side of the activities hall.  
Trent was as clueless about lanyards as most of the kids were, so things proceeded slowly. The sullen kid was the first to finish, tossing a tangled mess of string onto the table. "There. All done."  
"Hmm...I don't think that's totally right."  
"Oh yeah. I forgot," the kid snapped. He tied the string into the shape of a noose. "There. _Now_ I'm done."  
"Cool." Trent liked this kid. He seemed pretty bummed about something, though.

"Daria?" Helen Morgendorffer knocked again on her daughter's bedroom door. "Honey, I really think you've been hiding in there long enough. Let's just talk about this, okay?"  
Silence.  
"Please? I took my lunch break to come back here, you know. Eric was beside himself. 'Don't bother throwing me a raft, Helen! Just LEAVE me to drown!' Honestly, that man is as bad as your father somtimes!" Helen laughed. "...Oh, my. Don't tell him I said that, okay?"  
Still no answer.  
"Daria, I _can_ have this room remodeled." She paused, then got down on her knees and tried to peek under the door to see if the lights were on. _"Sweetie?"_  
"Sorry, ma'am," Daria said from behind her as she jumped a foot. "Last time I saw her, she hopped a lonesome freight train west."  
Helen blushed and smoothed down her business suit. "I just stopped by to ask how you were feeling."  
"Like a lying, boyfriend-stealing harlot," Daria shrugged. "But I'm dealing with it. I think I've decided what to do."  
"Oh?"  
"Something that doesn't involve me killing myself, or Jane killing both me and Tom. I'd say that's as good as it's going to get," she stepped closer to the door. "I have to make a phone call now. You know me, always networking."  
Helen moved aside. "Who are you calling? Tom?"  
"Why?"  
"Well, I think your sister already talked to him." Helen said cautiously.  
Daria blanched. "What are you talking about? Quinn? Why would SHE be calling him?"  
"I'm not sure, honey. I thought you knew!" Helen said uncertainly. "I was just running some laundry up to your sister's door a few nights ago, and..."  
"What did you hear?"  
Helen twisted her fingers. "Well, she was talking to someone named Tom and saying you weren't interested in speaking to him. Then I think she just hung up."  
"So he _did_ call." Daria's face darkened like a storm cloud. "Thanks, Mom. I'm glad we had this talk."  
She shut the door hard behind her.

Pricipal Angela Li sat in the darkened office and checked her email. Her face glowed strangely in the light from the monitor.  
She often came here after school, and even after classes were finished, just like now. She wanted to see the building as it was meant to be. Quiet. Secure. Fully under control. As difficult as those goals were to achieve, she desired yet another: financial solvency.  
Unfortunately federal funds were dwindling every year, residents seemed unlikely to approve higher property taxes, and a showdown with the Teachers' Union was imminent. They would want money, money she couldn't give them, at least not without compromising student safety. What would this school be without all the fences, the cameras, the security points? Vulnerable to attack, that's what.  
But this latest email...that could change everything. If this man, this corporate representative could deliver what he promised next semester, there would be more than enough cash to go around.  
Li smiled as she studied the message. Her face lit up in green and yellow.

"Well," Tom surveyed the churning mass of people illuminated by the skylights, running and shouting to grab sub-par merchandise. "What do you think?"  
His sister stood next to him on the second floor balcony, looking slightly sick. "I think the Starry Night Ball doesn't seem so bad anymore."  
"Come on Els, embrace the horror," he said mischievously. "Let's go down there and see it up close. You can tell all your friends at Fielding when you come back."  
"What friends?" she said sourly.  
"Okay, so you can tell all your enemies at Fielding. Spend the whole summer embellishing it, then let it haunt _their_ dreams for a while."  
"You know me too well." She nodded and followed him into the glass elevator. "But if you flirt with any of the locals in my presence, I'll have no choice but to commit fratricide."  
He winced. "That's fair."  
The elevator doors closed, shielding them momentarily from the din.  
"I gather you've had some trouble in that field recently?" Elsie said as they slowly descended.  
"That's none of your business."  
"I didn't say it was. Though for the life of me, I don't know what you were thinking. Observing the non-culture of middle class America from the sidelines is one thing. Tethering yourself to it is another."  
He stiffened. "If you're talking about Jane and Daria, they're different, okay? They're smart. They're funny."  
"And you're a Sloane."  
"We're not having this discussion now."  
As always, Elsie yearned to tear down his quasi-rebellious fantasies with one bitter rant. And as always, she decided against it. He was her brother; he deserved better.  
"Relax. I'm still your sister. No matter what you do."  
"Go ahead, rub it in." He joked. "But you guessed right. I've already done...more than enough."  
"Can you fix it?"  
Tom shrugged. "That's up to Daria."  
_...Not just Daria, is it?_ He thought. _Not anymore._

"Wait! Slow down!" Quinn called to her friends. She was carrying four stuffed shopping bags already, weaving her way through the bustling Lawndale Mall to the next store.  
"Quinn, we have to get to all the stores before noon," Sandi Griffin said impatiently. "That's why it's called an _A.M. sale."_  
"Yeah! I hope we can make it!" Stacy Rowe fretted.  
"Morniiiiiing." added Tiffany Blum-Deckler.  
Quinn ran up to them and struggled to catch her breath. "Sandi, I know how important it is to move quickly. I mean, I have to get home by half past three so I can see my tut-umm, my...two...favorite shows that are on today!" Close call. She'd managed to keep the tutoring thing a secret so far, but who knew if she could pull it off all summer? "But shouldn't we at least run these bags out to the car before we go any further?"  
"A commendable idea," Sandi smirked cruelly. "Here you go, Quinn." She put down her bags at the redhead's feet.  
"Thaaaaanks." Tiffany did likewise.  
"That's okay, I can carry my own...eep!" Stacy complied after a sharp look from Sandi.  
Quinn balked. Was this because she got to the really good yellow dress before Sandi? But yellow wasn't even Sandi's color! She had to take it for her own good, really. "But you guys...hey, wait!"  
"You're such a good friend. We will meet up with you later!" Sandi called. Then they were gone.  
Quinn stared down at the eleven bags of clothes. Great. Now what was she supposed to do? By the time she got half of them to the car, the other half would be stolen by less popular people and Sandi would blame _her!_  
She dragged the goods over to the nearest bench and looked around for a familiar face, or at least a boy who might stop and help her. But everybody was rushing by so fast, and nobody she knew except in the Club would really be crazy enough to come out here at the height of the first summer sales, and...and...  
...And that semi-cute guy suddenly standing in front of her looked really, _really_ familiar.


	6. Checkmate, Tom

Chapter 6: "Checkmate, Tom"

"...Hey." Tom said after a very long, very awkward moment.  
"Hey." Quinn stood protectively in front of the shopping bags and folded her arms.  
It was just his luck, Tom thought to himself. First on the phone, now in person. He couldn't seem to do anything without this girl spoiling it. It was like the pink menace had put a tracking device on him. "Look, I didn't know you were going to be here," he said. "Well, not right now, at least."  
She nodded.  
"I'm here with my sister, Elsie. She wanted to see Lawndale."  
Elsie was cordial. "Hello. Guilty as charged."  
"Elsie, this is Quinn Morgendorffer, my former girlfriend's... friend's... sister." he sounded embarrassed just saying it.  
"Hi."  
"Well," Elsie said, glancing curiously between the two of them. "I can see the two of you need to work something out. So, rather than force an awkward conversation, I'll leave you to it. Tom, I'll be at the shoe store. Looking at shoes." She gestured to Sir Lopes-A-Lot across the way.  
"Ewww!" Quinn cried despite herself. "Not _that_ one! Sole Man is way better. It's right down there." She pointed to the west end of the corridor.  
Elsie looked at her with new interest. _"Merci."_  
"Gesundheit!" Quinn waved as the other girl walked off, then turned her attention back to Tom. "Well...we don't have much else to talk about anyway, do we?"  
"Not really," Tom shrugged helplessly. "I mean, I don't believe that Daria would put you up to this. Or that you would agree to it if she did. So..."  
"Oh Tom, does stuff like that really matter to you? Don't you think that if Daria wanted to talk she would have called _you?_"  
Tom's frustration boiled over. "You're asking me? You could have her bound and gagged at home for all I know!"  
"I do not!" she pouted. "And stay back. I have mace, you know!"  
"Quinn, I'm four feet away from y-"  
"FINE, it's not really mace, it's a really strong perfume but Daria said it was like the same thing. Although what would she know about it? She won't even let me make her over. When just a little extra color in her cheeks could do so much for her! I think she's doing it just to get back at me for calling her my cousin-"  
"You what?"  
Quinn prattled on, ignoring the stares of fellow shoppers."-Which I know I shouldn't still be doing, but if she has a problem with it why doesn't she, like, _say_ something instead of joking about me not being born with her weird friends-oops! I guess she only had one friend and that was before you...well, you know."  
"Quinn, just listen to me for a second! I didn't mean to hurt anyone! I just want to apologize to her."  
"Duh, Tom! What did you think was going to happen?" Quinn surprised herself by shouting back. "And what about after you apologize? You ask her out and wreck things even more?!"  
He let out a breath and his shoulders fell. "...No."  
She lowered her voice. "Huh?"  
"I'm not going to ask her out," Tom repeated. "I _want_ to. I won't lie about that. I really like her. But if it's going to make things worse...I'll back off."  
"You will?" she looked suspicious.  
"Yes. I care about her too. You don't have to believe me, but it's true. And, um...I'm sorry I messed things up for her."  
"Thanks." Quinn said levelly.  
"Just ask if she'll call _me_ sometime, okay? If she wants to."  
Quinn nodded. "Um...okay. I'll tell her."

Jane briefly tallied her recent accomplishments here at Ashfield. Hated instructors, check. Lacked interest in peers, check. Made one good friend with a biting sense of humor, check. This place seemed more like Lawndale than ever.  
Unlike Daria, Alison seemed to have some standing here and was trying to help Jane get to know some other aspiring artists. This mad scheme of approaching them at lunch was her latest attempt.  
"Daniel said my white-on-white painting was a stroke of genius," a shapely white-haired girl named Paris was saying.  
Another Dotson admirer named Guy gave a lewd smirk. "I'll bet you two have explored all _sorts_ of strokes together." Paris looked embarrassed; a girl named Jet laughed out loud. Jane nearly choked on her soda.  
"Well, I suppose genius _does_ have its prerogatives," said Guy.  
Jane felt Alison nudging her, and reluctantly chimed in. "Well, I don't know if Daniel's a _genius..."_  
Paris immediately jumped to the poseur's defense. "No offense, Jane..." _Insult incoming,_ Jane thought. "...But aren't you still in high school? How much can you know about art at this point?"  
"Excuse me?" Jane stayed calm, but she felt her blood rising. This bimbo thought white-on-white was inspired art, and she was questioning HER experience?  
"PARE-is," Alison replied, deliberately mispronouncing her name, "We all had to submit a portfolio to be accepted here. I'd say Jane knows quite a bit about art."  
That seemed to defuse the situation, but their lunchmates soon got up and left.  
Well, Alison had made a bet with Jane that she would have fun talking to them if she just gave it a chance. Now she intended to collect.  
"You owe me dinner," Jane said.  
Alison eyed her mischievously.

If Sole Man was the best shoe store in Lawndale Mall, Elsie thought, then she could just as well skip the others. She browsed the displays with her usual discriminating eye, commenting on each pair in her head.  
_That pair is ugly...that one's junky...oversized...murder weapons...no arch support...glorified foot-binding...left over from S & M Day..._  
Didn't they have anything good here? She looked around for a salesman, but the only one on duty was stuck with a vapid-looking Asian girl who couldn't make up her mind.  
"Do these onnnes make me look faaat?" she was saying.  
"For the last time, none of them make you look fat!"  
"Ohhhh." the girl picked up another pair.  
Elsie froze.  
Those shoes she was holding...they were perfect! Fashionable green slip-ons, soft and comfortable with plenty of support. She had to have them.  
"Do theeese make me look fat?" the girl asked the salesman, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world.  
"Yes. Terribly," Elsie cut in. "But don't worry, I'll put them back for you. Try these instead." She handed over a pair of large, clompy black boots. "They're so big they'll make the rest of you look even thinner."  
"Wooow. Thaaanks."  
_"Pas de quot,"_ Elsie promptly took the shoes behind another rack and tried them on. Perfect.  
She paid for them and walked out of the store to find Tom waiting outside.  
"You look like someone dropped a ton of bricks on you," she remarked.  
He sighed. "Funny. That's about how I feel."  
"Things didn't go well?"  
"Something happened with her sister and I. She's freezing me out. There's no hard feelings or anything, but I'd just as soon go somewhere else. You don't mind, do you?"  
"Not at all," Elsie's interest in this girl was piqued even more. Nobody 'froze out' Tom. "Would you wait for me in the car? I just have one more thing to take care of."  
Tom rolled his eyes. "I know what that means. See you in 30 minutes, princess." He took a few steps toward the exit and turned back, staring at the bag in Elsie's hand. "Did you _buy_ something?"  
Elsie turned pink and slipped the bag behind her back. "No. You're seeing things. Keep going."  
"High and mighty Elsie Sloane bought shoes at the unwashed, non-preppy Lawndale Mall?"  
"Get going. Or I'll show you how hard I can throw them."  
"You gave me something to smile about already." Tom winked and went on to the exit.

Quinn looked down at the eleven stuffed bags, then at the faraway exit. Even with Tom sorted out, she had the same problem as before. God, what the heck was Sandi's problem today?  
"Need some help?"  
To Quinn's surprise, it was Tom's sister. On one hand, she was fashionably dressed in clothes that were definitely more expensive than they looked, and she had a shopping bag with her-all good signs. On the other hand, she was...well, Tom's sister.  
"Um..." she hesitated.  
"Relax. I don't know what went on between you and my brother. Actually, I was hoping for a few hints. It's not often that a girl gets the better of him-besides me, that is," the brunette looked at her appraisingly. "Quinn Morgendorffer, right?"  
"Right. And you're, um..." Quinn trailed off. "I forgot. Sorry."  
"No problem. It's Elsie. I would say my father named me after his prize cow, but I don't even have the excuse of his being a farmer."  
Quinn giggled. To her surprise, she liked this girl. She was sort of like Daria, but with style. "No way! I think it's nice."  
"Flattery will get you everywhere. Ask anyone in my family." Elsie looked down at the bags. "Got a little carried away?"  
"Huh?" Quinn had been studying her face. It was heart-shaped and framed perfectly by her dark brown bob haircut, her lipstick a perfect shade of pastel pink to complement her lavender hair band. "Oh, those. Well, some of them belong to my friends. They were really busy, so they just asked me to, um..."  
"...Take all of those outside by yourself?" Elsie frowned. "_Quel dommage!_ Some friends."  
Quinn pursed her lips. "Yeah, well. Was that French?"  
"Yes. It means 'what a pity'. _Parlez vous?_?"  
"No. Well, only a few words."  
"Another pity. Well then," Elsie bent down gingerly and picked up several of the bags. "Allow me."  
"Oh Elsie, you don't have to do that..."  
"With the help thirty minutes away? I certainly do. Lead on, Quinn."  
Quinn obeyed. The girl's words sunk in a few seconds later. "...The help? You have _servants_ and stuff?"  
"A few. I wouldn't _call_ them that, mind you. They might be offended. I just use their names."  
"Wow! So you and Tom are rich? I knew he looked too good for those clothes! Where do you live?"  
"Bowman Estates. We've lived there forever, give or take a generation," Elsie said lightly. "...It's good to get out once in a while."  
Quinn was positively starry-eyed. By the time they got out to the car, she was asking if she could visit Sloane Manor sometime.  
Elsie said that it might be a little awkward for Tom, so the beauty promptly invited her to the Morgendorffers' for what she felt was much-needed fashion advice. Elsie said she would check her schedule, and in no time, an unexpected friendship was born.

Not far away, a bespectacled cynic twiddled her thumbs and waited.


	7. Closure

Chapter 7: Closure

Quinn texted Sandi-_sry gotta go, can't make fc mtg, call u 2nite!_ Somehow it just didn't seem important right now.  
Instead she took her bags and walked home, lost in thought. What was she going to do? Now that she'd finally got through to Tom, she felt like she should give his message to Daria. But then Daria would start asking questions about why Quinn was talking to him in the first place. As soon as she did that, the jig was up...but if Daria ever talked to Tom herself, the jig was also up.  
She would just have to tell the truth. She thought about the best way to break the news as she walked into the house and up to her room, shutting the door behind her. At least there would be some time to-  
"Hello, Quinn."  
"Eeeek!" Quinn jumped. There was Daria, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What are you doing in here? If you want wardrobe advice, you could at least ask first."  
"Shut up," Daria stood. "I'll make this very simple. By any chance, have you been stopping Tom from talking to me?"  
Quinn froze. Her doe-in-the-headlights expression was proof enough of her guilt.  
"I thought so," Daria grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her roughly over to the bed. "I'm going to start hitting you now, Quinn, and I may never stop."  
_Slap. Slap._ "Owww! Hey!" _Slap._ "Daria, quit it!" _Slap._ "I was just trying to-" _Slap._ "Owww! Help! Abuse!"  
"Keep talking, Quinn. That only makes it easier."

"Get OFF me." Quinn said a few minutes later when the punishment had stopped.  
"I'm not done yet, Quinn. Just resting my arms."  
She squirmed. "Come on, I know you're not really trying to hurt me."  
"Don't tempt me. But as long as we're communicating so well now, try this. Did you do it because _you_ have designs on Tom?" She fixed her with an icy stare.  
"Eee-yewww! NO! That's so gross, Daria," Quinn cried. "That guy messed up your life! And have you seen his car?! Oh, wait, you must have since you were in it and everything..."  
"What? How do you even know about that?!" Daria looked shocked.  
Quinn stared up at her. "I was in the kitchen when you were talking to that Jane. I heard everything."  
"Oh," Daria leaned back and put her hands on her knees, taking her weight off of Quinn. "...Oh. Damn."  
The beauty finally squirmed out from underneath her and shoved her angrily. "Ugh! My hair..."  
"You shouldn't have heard all that."  
"Well I did. And then he wouldn't stop calling! I had to get rid of him. I knew you wouldn't want to talk to him after...well, all _that."_ Quinn made a face.  
"You don't have the right. And it wasn't all his fault. I kissed him too."  
"I know," Quinn said quietly. "But you're my sister."  
They sat there for a while, neither speaking.  
"All right," Daria said. "So you spied on Jane and I during the conversation of doom. Then what happened?"  
Quinn told her everything, leaving out no detail. Unfortunately for Daria this included her thoughts on the cars, clothes, and social status of everyone who was even marginally involved. But in the end, she pieced it all together.  
"So that's all of it," Quinn said when they were finished. "You can call him or whatever. He asked me to tell you that."  
Daria nodded slowly. "Maybe I will. I guess your holding him off wasn't all bad. I think I'm actually ready now."  
The doorbell rang downstairs.  
"That's for me!" Quinn jumped up from the bed.  
"Are the aliens finally bringing back your brain?"  
"No," Quinn winked, "But they're injecting information into it and junk. It's really scary."  
"Sounds like it. By the way, if you have any more bombs to drop on me while I'm _not_ in the mood to kill you..."  
Quinn paused in the doorway. "Daria, if this wasn't a study night I might have time to begin answering that question. But, um...I don't know why I still call you my cousin. It's not like I'm embarrassed of you anymore. That's just silly, and I would have stopped a while ago if you just asked me. But since you never did, I just kept doing it to get under your skin. 'Cause, let's face it, your skin needs all the help it can get."  
"Gee, you always know the right thing to say. Fine...stop calling me your damn cousin, okay?"  
"OH-kay, I'll do it, but on one contrition. You have to get out of my room now."  
Daria had forgotten she was in enemy territory. "...Oh, yeah."

It was morning once again in Lawndale, but there was little joy in it for the children of the 'OK to Cry Corral' day camp. In lieu of the normal camp activities they were so looking forward to-hiking, swimming in the lake, campfires and such-head counselor Mr. O'Neill was subjecting them to endless arts and crafts, 'self-discovery' exercises that meant nothing to them, and a battery of insipid songs. The fact that they must do it all indoors rather than out in the sun added insult to injury.  
Trent, being Trent, did not contemplate this in so many words. But even he didn't miss that everything about this camp was, well, pretty lame.  
He sat on the bus and watched O'Neill lead the kids through a halfhearted song about dental hygiene to the tune of 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat' and winced. He didn't really care about the daytime activities; at least they didn't require him to do much or go chasing after kids all day. But bad music was something else altogether. Besides, sitting next to a vibrating Mr. DeMartino was kind of freaking him out.  
The song mercifully ended, and Trent stood up before the next one could start. "Hey, Uncle Timothy. That was pretty cool...except, you know, not really. I think I'm gonna take a turn."  
The campers cheered and sat up excitedly.  
O'Neill looked unsure. "Now, Trent, I'm not sure we need to-"  
Too late. Trent hefted his guitar and launched into a rendition of 'I've Been Working on the Railroad' he once played at a kid's birthday party:  
_I've been working on the railroad  
Every pointless day!  
I've been working on the railroad  
While my life gets pissed away!  
Can't you hear the whistle blowing?  
Shatter my dreams in the morn!  
Can't you hear the captain shouting?  
Wish I was never born!_  
The pint-sizers loved it. O'Neill looked shocked. DeMartino went from homicidal to just confused.  
As he dove into the next verse, Trent spied that one angry-looking kid near the back of the bus. He stared out the window as if nothing was happening, but as the music went on, one of his feet began to tap the floor.  
Cool.

"GEE, Stacy. Did you, like, say something to completely gross Quinn out yesterday?"  
Stacy Rowe cringed. "No, Sandi, I swear! I don't know where she is!"  
"I suggest you think about it a little _harder_. First she terminates yesterday's shopping trip early, then she skips our mandatory Fashion Club meeting, then I can't get her on the phone for 18 hours? This has to be _your_ fault somehow." Sandi Griffin shot her pigtailed friend a death glare.  
"O-okay. I'm sure you're right. I-I'll try to remember what I did." Stacy looked down at her shoes.  
"You do that," the prez turned sourly to Tiffany Blum-Deckler, who was admiring herself in the mirror in her usual attire...with one glaring exception. "In the meantime, Tiffany, perhaps YOU can tell us how you got Quinn's cousin's boots, and perhaps a clue as to where her body might be buried?"  
"I got themmm at the maaaaall," Tiffany smiled vaguely. "A really pretty girllll said they made me look thiiiin."  
Sandi rolled her eyes. "Tiffany, horizontal stripes could make you look thin. And they would probably be less offensive. Now will you take those horrible things off already?"  
Tiffany ignored her and continued to admire her reflection. Sandi fumed.

"As you can see, Grace, Sloane and Page deals mainly with equity and mutual funds," Angier Sloane gestured to the mess of papers on his desk, as if Tom could focus on any one of them. "Now we've gone over the three types of mutual funds-remind me of those again?" he winked.  
Tom leaned over the desk next to him and tried to concentrate. "Open-end funds buy back shares at the end of every business day. Closed-end funds only issue once on an IPO. And exchange-traded funds operate like closed-ends but give you a price closer to net value."  
Angier nodded and pulled out a Cuban cigar from his vest pocket. Tom brightened a little. Dad only smoked those when he was in a good mood, so he must be doing something right. "Well said. And the way ETF's can afford to give their investors such a good deal is...?"  
"...They sell lemonade on the sidewalk to make up the difference?"  
His father sighed. "Should have known that was coming. Strike one."  
"Um...by prying even more money from the dying fingers of the oppressed proletariat?"  
"Ha ha. Strike two, Tom Marx." Angier slugged him on the back, gently. "I know Fielding is still stuck in the 19th century as far as economics go, but if you're going to help me file earnings reports this summer, you have to know this. Try again. ETF's keep their prices near net-asset value by doing...what?"  
"Hmm..."  
The antique phone rang in the corner of the study.  
"I'll get it," Angier picked up the receiver. "Sloane residence... Oh! Well, you certainly can, Miss. He's right here." He beckoned to Tom. "Sounds like one of your lady friends wants to talk to you."  
Tom looked up. There were only three girls who might know his home number, and only one of them would have any reason to call him now. "You mind if I take this one upstairs, Dad?"  
"Take it in here if you want. I'll just go bother your mother for a while. Happy hunting." his father chuckled and excused himself from the study.  
_I wish,_ Tom thought glumly and put the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"  
_"Tom?"_ the girl on the other end said after a few seconds. _"It's Daria. We have to talk."_  
So Quinn had kept her word. Tom grinned. "You're right, we do. I was trying to call you, but-"  
_"I know."_ She offered no further explanation.  
"...Oh."  
_"I needed some time. Look. About last week..."_  
This was it-finally, an answer.  
Tom didn't rush her. He just held his breath and waited.


	8. The Art of Remorse

Chapter 8: The Art of Remorse

Jane and Alison sat comfortably in a wall booth at the Hungry Palette, a surprisingly decent restaurant that catered to the denizens of Ashfield. Jane had fettucine alfredo while her companion had steak and salad. Jane was surprised when Alison ordered a bottle of wine after the meal, but she just thought of it as a bonus. She'd never split a whole bottle with someone, but she was no teetotaler either.  
"So where are they turning out great artists like you?" Alison put her hands under her chin and watched her with great interest.  
"I'm from Lawndale," Jane replied. "But if you think it's a haven for the arts, I'm sorry to disappoint you."  
"Just another suburb, huh?"  
"Yep. Like a million others all over America. Not much art, but caricatures aplenty."  
They shared a laugh, and Jane began to wonder if she'd found a friend.

"Look, I made a mistake. We both did." Daria said slowly. She glanced nervously at Quinn, who was sitting on the bed. Somehow the busybody had talked her way into being present for the call. Maybe it was because Daria had never done anything like this before, whereas Quinn...  
_"It was my fault. I should have just driven home like you told me,"_ Tom said on the other end. _"We hurt Jane when we didn't have to. I know that. If we were going to do anything, we should have waited until...well..."_  
"Until you had a chance to break up with Jane. Because that wouldn't have hurt her at all," Daria scowled. "I'm not like you, Tom. I can't just do whatever I want and deal with the consequences later. Sometimes I wish I could. But that isn't me."

"God, I envy you, Jane," Alison said suddenly. "To have all that talent and focus at your age!"  
Jane shook her head. "Oh, come on."  
"No, really. I wish I could be in high school again, knowing what I know now."  
Eyeroll. Jane heard that one all the time. "A little perspective and you could sidestep all the torture, huh?"  
"...NO." Alison laughed.  
So she was talented _and_ smart.

Daria waited for Tom to answer.  
_"Okay...I understand. We don't have to make a decision now. We-"_  
"I do."  
Quinn nodded encouragingly.  
Pause. _"Oh."_  
"Every day I leave Jane up at that art colony without telling her anything, I'm putting a little more distance between us. And I can't handle that. Right now, I'm a friend who broke her trust. If I don't end this, I'm no friend at all. And nothing we have to offer each other is worth that."

"You and your future, me and my so-called career..." Alison generously poured Jane some more wine. "...I guess we've each got something the other would love to have."  
Jane smiled and raised her glass. She was beginning to feel tipsy. At least Alison was driving.

Tom started to sound worried. _"Daria, wait. I mean-a mistake? Is that all it is to you? I know it was wrong, but you meant it, right? You felt something there too, right? Can't we just leave the door open?"_  
Quinn waved her hands and shook her head. _No no, don't let him talk you out of it._  
"It's not about that, Tom. Yes, I felt it too. But whatever it was, we've already spoiled it. And I don't think I'll ever be okay with what we did to Jane."  
Daria's hand was shaking. She tried to hold the phone steady and took a deep breath.  
"I can't go out with you. Not now, not later. I'm sorry."  
_"...I'm sorry, too. I wish this had all happened differently."_ He sounded calm, but shaken.  
"Life isn't fair, Tom. Just ask Trotsky."

"The night is young, Jane," Alison said when the wine was gone. She leaned in conspiratorially. "Want me to show you my etchings?"  
Jane burst out laughing. It seemed like a weird joke, but everything was funny to her right now. Alison, the colony, Francesco Goya... "Sure, let's go. Um, you're sure your roommates won't mind?"  
"I have my own place. It's easy if you know Daniel." Alison took her arm and helped her out of the seat.  
It was even easier than she imagined. But then, it wasn't her first time hooking up with a girl.

"So that was your first time dumping a guy?" Quinn asked.  
"Mm-hmm."  
"Well, um...how do you feel?"  
Daria had a dozen sarcastic answers on the tip of her tongue, but no energy to deliver them. "Terrible. How do you do it all the time?"  
"Daria, it's not that hard."  
"Maybe for you. Don't you ever go out with guys you _like?_ Don't you ever look past what they're wearing, and how popular they are, and what kind of car they drive?"  
Quinn looked away. "Maybe that's all I'm ready for, Daria. You know?"  
Silence.  
"I just feel like that was my only chance. And I messed it up before it even started." Daria continued.  
"That's just silly, Daria. Remember that one time you stole my outfit? You're not that bad looking, and plenty of guys like you."  
"What parallel universe are you talking about?"  
"I'm serious. You just kind of...scare them, that's all."  
Daria rolled over and looked at the ceiling. Maybe that was all _she_ was ready for.  
She felt around for the phone.  
"Now who are you calling?" Quinn asked.  
"Hold on," Daria waited seven rings before she got an answer. "Hi...Trent? It's Daria."

"Does it ever bother you that your speedometer is stuck at ten miles per hour?" Daria said as the Tank bounced out of the Lawndale city limits.  
"Hmm...ten. That reminds me. Time for dinner."  
Trent pulled a candy bar out of his pocket, causing the van to swerve over the center line. Daria's eyes widened. Quinn screamed. "Aaaaahhh! Stop that! I'm too cute to die!"  
"Just for the record, the police generally don't like it when you drive on the wrong side of the road," Daria added.  
"Tell me about it, Daria. Daria's sister," Trent yawned and took a bite. "I'm really tired, though. I need the sugar."  
"Another ten-hour 'practice', huh?"  
"I wish. I have to hang out at some camp this summer. The 'Okay to Die Corral' or whatever."  
Daria stared. "You're _working?"_  
Quinn stared harder. "With Mr. O'Neill?!"  
"It's not so bad. At least they give me a ride. And I kind of like the idea of teaching a new generation of kids how to rock." He smiled proudly.  
"...Well, at least you don't have delusions of grandeur or anything," Daria replied. Quinn giggled from the back. "So, how's Jane? I haven't seen her since she left."  
Trent nodded. "She's okay. It's just...you know. The Tom thing. How's he doing?" There was an edge to his voice-barely perceptible, but it was there.  
"Probably not so good, since I told him I couldn't hang out with him anymore," she tried not to sound too defensive. "You know. The Jane thing."  
"Oh," he seemed surprised, but not disappointed. "Well, Janey knows you didn't mean to hurt her. She'll come around."  
"Yeah. Thanks, Trent."  
Daria enjoyed a few minutes of quiet before he started singing.  
"Betrayal...yeah, a stab in the back. Betrayal...yeah, I'm stretched on the rack. Betrayal...yeah, thrown out of the...thrown out of the..."  
"Oooo, I know! Pack?" Quinn chimed in, thinking of the Fashion Club. Sandi and the others had really been snubbing her since yesterday.  
"Thrown out of the pack," Trent finished. To Daria's horror, both he and Quinn started singing TOGETHER. Yep. Definitely a parallel universe. "Betrayal...betrayal, yeah. Betrayal...betrayal, yeah. Hey, you're pretty good, Daria's sister."  
"Thanks!"  
"Guys," Daria glared. "That's not helping."

There was more wine in Alison's cabin. She always came prepared. She watched Jane looking over her pastel sketches, occasionally giggling or remarking on the work.  
God, she looked good. Alison bit her lip softly as she watched Jane's fingers trail over the pages. She seemed so innocent, almost like she didn't know what was going on.  
_She has to, though. I've been dropping hints all day._  
"These pastels are great," Jane said finally.  
"Thanks. I wish the galleries felt the same way." Alison hated her own work. Maybe that was a sign that she was actually good; who knew? At least she wasn't like that jerk Daniel. Still, he had his good points once you got to know him... "Top that off for you?"  
Jane put the book down and clambered unsteadily to her feet. "No thanks, I've had enough. Better call it a night. I get cranky if I don't get my usual 12 hours."  
_Now,_ Alison thought. "Come on, I'm sure we can find something to do to amuse ourselves."  
"Well, that's where the whole sleeping thing factors in. I'll see you tomorrow." Jane still looked clueless. Alison had to hand it to her, it was an amazing act.  
She took her gently by the arm. "Oh, I can't let you walk home in your condition. I'm going to have to insist that you lie down."  
"Really, I'm fine."  
Alison swallowed hard. "I promise not to kick you out of bed in the morning. Well, unless you're snoring."  
Jane just laughed. "Thanks, but I..." she trailed off and an uncertain look came over her. "...Oh. Oh, God."  
"What's the matter? I'm not your type?"  
Jane backed away. "Um, Alison...I'm straight."  
"Yeah, right."  
"I'm not gay," she insisted.  
_Damn, stop teasing,_ Alison thought anxiously. _Are we roleplaying now? Is she into that?_ "Where have I heard that before? Wait, is this your first time with a girl? No wonder you're nervous..."  
She reached out gently, but Jane took another step back. "Alison, read my lips. I like GUYS."  
She couldn't be serious, Alison thought. Could she? "And hanging out with bisexuals in their rooms after they buy you dinner?"  
"Hey, I didn't know you were bi! And the dinner thing was settling a bet!"  
"Sure. Settling a bet," Alison crossed her arms, frustrated and confused. "I'm sorry, baby. But I _never_ hit on straight chicks."  
_KNOCK KNOCK._  
Both girls stared at the door, neither having any idea what was going on. Alison finally swept over and answered it. "What?!"  
"Hiiiii!" cried a cute red-haired girl in jeans and a butterfly shirt.  
Alison's jaw dropped, not unlike Jane's. "Who the hell are you?" Competition? THIS cream puff was after Jane?  
"Oh, don't mind me, I'm just wondering if you've seen...Jane! There you are!" She turned back and yelled into the darkness. "Hey DAH-ria! Trent! I found her!"  
Two more people?! Alison gulped. Either she was suffering from a series of mistaken impressions, or this was going to be a _really_ long night.


	9. Quinnspiration

Chapter 9: Quinnspiration

"Thanks for the heads-up, sis," Daria grumbled as she walked up to the door. "But next time just go for my ears with a dental drill."  
"Nice digs, Janie-WHOAAAAA," Trent raised his eyebrows at at the first glimpse of Alison. "Who're you?"  
For the first time Alison looked unsure. "Just an acquaintance."  
"A former acquaintance," Jane said coldly. "And I was just leaving."  
"I can hang around if...uhh, never mind." Trent shrank back from the look Jane gave him.  
Her hostess managed a smooth recovery. "Too bad. Well, have a good night, 'Janie'. If you can."  
"Go to hell," Jane snapped, and shut the door behind them. She stalked away from the cabin, so mad she couldn't see straight, ignoring her friends as they hurried to catch up with her.  
_How dare she? How DARE she try to pull something like this?!_  
"Jane?"  
"Hey!"  
"Janie," Trent took her gently by the shoulders. "Wait up. What's going on?"  
"You want to know what's going on? Oh, nothing! Just another night, another betrayal. And I didn't ask for your help, either!" she shoved his hands away.  
"Whoa. Chill out. We're just trying to figure out what's up."  
Quinn got close enough to smell her breath and grimaced. "Ugh. Jane, how much have you had to drink?"  
"Oh, I've had enough. Just ask _her,"_ Jane jabbed a finger at the cabin. "She's real generous. She said she wouldn't even kick me out of bed in the morning."  
"You're kidding, right?" Daria said, following by a choking sound from Quinn, who was red as a tomato.  
"Yeah, look how hard I'm laughing. _Shit,_" Jane stumbled and sat down on the grass. "Just leave me alone, okay?"  
Daria was already walking back.  
"Hey, hold on." Trent called after her.  
She kept walking and threw the door open. Alison whirled around in surprise and dropped the empty wine bottle. It hit the floor and broke.  
Daria stared her down until the temperature in the room was sufficiently low. "I don't know what kind of sick place this is, but you stay away from my friend."  
SLAM. Alison blinked.  
The door opened again. It was the cream puff this time. "Yeah! What she said!"  
SLAM.  
The door opened a third time. Cream puff again. "...Even though she's not really _my_ friend."  
SLAM.  
Alison ran over and locked it, muttering curses under her breath and trying to figure out what had just happened.

It took a while for Jane to calm down. With her vile mood and all the wine she'd had that evening, Daria knew they couldn't take her back to her cabin yet. They just watched nervously while Jane paced around in the dark, yelling things that fit better on the uncensored edition of _Sick Sad World_ than a community for the arts. Eventually she ran out of breath and sat down against a large maple tree, allowing Daria to carefully approach her.  
"Hey," she said simply.  
"Hey yourself, old buddy old pal." Jane did not look at her.  
"I'm not sure if we came at a bad time or a good time."  
"Oh, you were perfect. You always seize the moment, Daria. I'll give you that. How the hell did you get in here, anyway?"  
"Jane, it's a bunch of wooden shacks. We turned left at the kid with the tractor."  
Jane snorted, but still stared off into the woods.  
"I'm sorry this happened to you. She was wrong. We can call the police if you want."  
"What for? Alison?! Screw her. Besides, you weren't there when it happened. My word against hers, right?"  
"Liquoring up a minor wouldn't be hard to prove."  
Jane shrugged. "I didn't say no. Well, not until she got fresh. I guess there were a few things I wanted to forget."  
Daria sat down on the other side of the tree. "Too bad you didn't save any for me."  
They listened to the crickets for a while. The moon was out, glowing off the bits of metal in the outdoor exhibits and the roofs of the cabins. Daria glimpsed Trent and Quinn having a mostly one-sided conversation by the van. Leave it to her nosy sister to break up another incompatible couple, she thought. Not that Jane would appreciate the observation.  
"So..." she said, to break the silence.  
"So what?" growled Jane. "So little time? So turns the wheel? 'So' buttons? What?!"  
"...We don't have to talk now if you don't want to."  
Jane let out her breath. "Sorry. Look, now's as good a time as any, okay? You did come out here for me."  
"Before you left, you said I should visit you when I made a decision about Tom. Well, I did."  
"Oh, right. What did you decide on? A marriage with ten kids or a long, torrid engagement? Don't hold back, I can take it."  
"Damn it, Jane, stop saying things like that," Daria was goaded too far. "I made a mistake. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I'd like to get over it while I _am_ still alive."  
"You sure sound like you're over it."  
"Don't be fooled by my joyful exterior."  
Jane chuckled. "Hell, why wouldn't you be over it? I am. He's not my boyfriend anymore. Don't pay any attention to bitter old Jane. Why don't you tell me how your first date went? I'll bet that was a real blast."  
"There wasn't one. That's what I came to tell you about. I told him I wasn't interested. Not now, not ever."  
Pause. "You dumped him?"  
"You could say that. If one bad, hurtful decision equals a relationship."  
"Ever been to one of my brother's weddings?" Jane relaxed against the tree. "Well, I won't lie, Daria. I'm still pissed at you."  
"You have every right to be."  
"Why did you do it in the first place?"  
Daria closed her eyes. "I wasn't sure myself, until now. I know I don't talk about the past much, but I was a little bit messed up when I moved here. I hated the last place I lived and didn't expect my life to get any better. Maybe I was _afraid_ it would get better. At least being alone and alienated were things I knew how to handle."  
Jane scooted over to her side of the tree. "Look, Daria..."  
"Just let me get this out. Like you said, it's as good a time as any." Daria swallowed and looked at the stars. "So then I met you, and I finally had someone I could trust. That meant everything to me. _You_ did. But then I got scared of losing you. I was jealous of every new friend you made and every new thing you tried that I wasn't part of. I was jealous of Tom, and of you for having something I didn't. And if that wasn't bad enough, we actually felt something for each other. Probably as far as back as that stupid homecoming parade."  
Jane winced, but she kept listening.  
"That made it worse, having the jealousy and the attraction. If it was only one or the other, nothing would have happened. But something did. I'm sorry. I screwed up a really important friendship because I didn't know how to keep one. I've never had to. And I know that's no excuse. If you don't want anything to do with me after this, I understand. And if for some reason you still want me as your friend, no more boyfriend stealing. I'll become a nun if I have to. Assuming my lifelong celibacy is ever a matter of choice."  
"Hmm," Jane fought back a smile. "Well, you _would_ look pretty funny wearing a habit. All right, Sister Daria. Welcome back to the Temple of Jane. I think I can forgive your transgression eventually. On one condition."  
"What?"  
"Get me the hell out of this place."

Quinn's voice vibrated slightly as the Tank made its way back to Lawndale.  
"...I KNOW! It's so weird out here, Stacy. It's like the middle of nowhere...huh? No, not the Hanson album. Even though they _are_ super cute. Anyway we're driving back right now and...what? It's a long story. You know that girl you _thought_ I said was my cousin? Well, um, you heard me wrong, she's my sister. Huh? You KNEW?! Well, let me break it to Sandi, all right? Anyway, she and that artist girl with the leggings? They're, like, still friends and stuff, so I don't care what you heard around school...eee-yewww! No, they are NOT dating each other! Who said that?!"  
Jane sighed. "Oh, boy."  
"Hey, at least you know what pizza toppings I like." Daria remarked.  
The chattering continued. "Well, Andrea's wrong, all right? You can't believe anything those goth girls say. All they ever do is talk about burning bras and stuff with that crazy science teacher. Those poor bras...huh? No, Daria did NOT kidnap Jane and do experiments on her. I just told you, she was out here in some art colonoscopy or something!"  
"Close enough," Jane conceded.  
"...So forget the rumors! They're still freaking friends, okay?!" Quinn yelled into the phone.  
Trent momentarily emerged from his trance. "Hmmm. Freaking friends. I like that."  
"Stacy...Stacy, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to shout. No, I promise I don't hate you. You're way too cute for that. Just make sure you tell everyone the truth. And tell Sandi I'm busy tomorrow night. I have something to do. Which is totally unrelated to any new friend I didn't make when you guys didn't hang me out to dry at the mall today, which I'm not mad about at all. Okay, bye." Quinn hung up her cell phone.  
"Remind me to nominate you for the History Club's next reading of the Gettysburg Address." Daria said.  
Jane looked up. "Four score and seven dates ago..."  
"Ewww!" Quinn recoiled. "Who told you they scored?!"  
"Never mind."  
Daria shook her head. "Speaking of which, make sure you pay attention to that tutor. You may give him my regards. And my pity. Um...Quinn?"  
Quinn had gone silent.  
_Thanks for reminding me_, she thought. Her first session with David had gotten off to a rocky start. He was cute in a nerdy sort of way, but she couldn't concentrate with everything else going on, and the Fashion Club girls called so many times that it drove him to distraction.  
David said she had no curiosity, no intellect, that she should do the world a favor and not bother going to college. It was harsh, but it forced her to think about the future. Guys, clothes, cars...these things were her life. But what if David was right, and knowing about them wasn't enough? A terrible thought crept into her mind: a picture of herself 30 years later, waitressing at a greasy spoon diner with orthopedic shoes and a _hairnet_, haranguing the customers with stories of how cute she was in high school.  
Maybe she wouldn't be young forever. Maybe no Prince Charming was coming. And if she didn't do something with herself now, that vision could be her future. Quinn shivered.  
She wondered if Elsie could teach her about more than just clothes.


	10. Twisted Sisters

Chapter 10: Twisted Sisters

Less than a hundred miles from Lawndale, ten executives huddled in a plush boardroom to discuss the future of their company. All of them told the same grim story. Sales were down. They were being outspent in ad campaigns and outsold on store shelves. The company name, once among the most popular in New England, was becoming an afterthought.  
It was for this reason that controversial advertising executive Leonard Lamm found himself promoted to Vice President of Sales and Marketing, and he meant to reward the brass' faith in him.  
"Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's all been said," he announced to the other nine bigwigs, with the unmistakable inflections of one who loved to hear himself talk. "And it's truly remarkable. Ultra Cola has fallen a long way since the UC Challenge and the Drew Bledsoe ad. The early 90s recession caught up with us, sales and market share are falling, and still...we find ourselves within reach of an extraordinary opportunity."  
That raised a few heads in the room. Lamm snapped his fingers, and the title page of his presentation appeared on the wall.  
"An opportunity that could lift us out of this rut and launch a new golden age for Ultra Cola: _institutional advertising._ That's right, my friends. Coke and Pepsi are dominating the traditional mediums like television and the papers. The only way for us to keep our name viable in the region...is to go where they're not. To explore a new frontier where our money is wanted and our product is most marketable."  
He smoothed down his brown pompadour and snapped his fingers again with a cheesy wink. The next slide was a graph of federal funding for public schools from 1969 to 1999.  
"Over the years, government money for our public high schools has dwindled to embarrassing levels, and these institutions are feeling the pinch. They need money. They need someone to call attention to their plight. And, most importantly, their students need hydration. You heard me right, folks: exclusive advertising contracts with public schools. We offer them the opportunity to bring our product and advertise our name right on school grounds, then give them a percentage of the ad revenues. This is not just the future of Ultra Cola: it's the future of advertising. Our company is in a unique position to usher in that new age. One or two schools may not make a difference for our bottom line...but thousands of them can. And thousands will."  
He snapped his fingers a third time.  
The next image on the wall was a recent photo of Lawndale High School.  
"All we need," Lamm declared with a wolfish smile, "Is a good test case."

_"Could even your lucky underwear...be turned against you?! Death by atomic wedgie, tonight on Sick Sad World!"_  
Daria winced and rubbed her throat. "Ugh."  
Jane nodded sympathetically. "I knew the invention of elastics would somehow be our downfall."  
"It's not the show," Daria shook her head. "I feel a great disturbance, as if hundreds of digestive systems are crying out for mercy."  
"Okay, no more pizza for you." Her friend moved the box away and looked out the window. "Hmm. I don't see anybody keeling over out there. Maybe it's a premonition."  
They stared at each other. But the moment passed, and Daria returned to Jane's paintings from the colony. "Well, these are...interesting."  
"Someday art historians will look back on these and call them my 'Art Colonies Suck Period'. I should tell my mom to get her money back. If she paid in the first place, that is."  
"That bad, huh?"  
"Self-obsessed students, a girl who tried to seduce me and a head instructor I shall fondly remember as 'Toulouse le Dreck'? Yes. That bad. I didn't think I would say this, but it's good to be back."  
Daria raised her soda. "I wonder what that girl is doing now."  
"Alison?" Jane looked at her and smirked. "Probably hitting on the kid with the tractor."

"STAY-cee dear," Sandi's glare could have curdled milk. "Did you happen to pick up any other details? Such as whether Quinn's disappearance from Fashion Ca-lub business can be attributed to a nuclear breakout or her acceptance into Witness Protection?!"  
"I'm sorry, Sandi. She just said she was busy..."  
"With whaaaat?" Tiffany pondered.  
Sandi paced around her bedroom with growing irritation. "With the exception of Stacy here, we have continuously failed to keep Quinn on the phone for more than five minutes at a time since the summer sale. As Ca-lub President, I cannot sit by and abandon a friend in need. Let's go."  
Stacy stood up, fidgeting. "But, um, she said she was busy tonight..."  
"So are we," Sandi retorted. "We are _busy_ getting our Vice President back."

Elsie took a deep breath and checked her reflection in the mirror one more time. She was calm and composed on the outside, but a bundle of nerves beneath the surface. For all her complaints about how dull her family affairs were, those things were at least familiar. A few biting remarks, a little brandy afterwards and she could breeze through most of them.  
Friendship-real friendship, not a business connection or convenient acquaintance-was something else. Elsie had few friends around Bowman Estates or Fielding Academy, and none outside of her social circle. It was too bad that she couldn't bring Tom along for moral support. He was still getting over Daria's decision, and in the end she decided not to tell him where she was going. It would only make things harder.  
"Here we are," Richard turned the car onto Glen Oaks Lane. A balding rail-thin man, he had worked for the Sloanes in various capacities since Elsie was born: butler, tailor, and driver. She considered him one of the few people she could trust. "Now remember my advice, Elsie."  
She nodded. "Right. Be open-minded, be pleasant, and...um..."  
_"Relax,"_ he said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "They may seem strange to you at first, but they're just people. I know you'll get along fine with this girl."  
"Relax...just people." Elsie repeated.  
"That's right. I trust you have your pager?" She nodded. "Good. I'll be right back to pick you up when you need me. Meanwhile, I have to finish up your gown for the ball."  
"Thank you, Richard."  
"Good luck," he gave her a solemn wave.  
Elsie stepped out of the car.

Quinn was in an unusual place herself: home on a summer afternoon, waiting for someone who wasn't a Fashion Club member or a date. In fact, she hadn't dated since before the Blush-a-Thon finals, a typical outing with Bret Strand. She received quite a few messages from other guys since then and never thought of calling them back. Same with the Fashion Club. Except for the bits and pieces she revealed to Stacy, they knew nothing about her role in Daria and Jane's situation, or about her tutoring, OR about Elsie. Hiding that much from them would be difficult to say the least.  
_When did my life get so complicated?_ she thought wistfully.  
The doorbell rang.  
She ran down to answer it. With her parents still at work and Daria over at Jane's, this was the perfect time to have a friend over. Quinn didn't know how Daria would feel about Tom's sister being here so soon after that unpleasant business, nor could she decide how to break the news to her. She would just have to play this one by ear.  
Quinn opened the door and there stood Elsie, looking like someone from another world in a light blue Lacoste polo shirt, light purple sweater with matching headband, royal blue crop pants, and black suede loafers with no socks.  
"Hey! Come on in!"  
"Thank you," Elsie turned back and gave her driver the thumbs-up.  
Quinn's mouth fell open. "Oh my gosh! Is that a Porsche?!"  
"It is. Not the latest model perhaps, but well preserved." Elsie looked around the living room with interest. Quinn thought that she moved and spoke rather carefully-way different from Tom, who just sort of glided through everything.  
"Well, it's really nice!" Quinn shut the door. "I bet all the guys want to ride in _your_ car instead!"  
Elsie seemed unsure of her meaning, then half-smiled. "Oh. Well, I'm afraid I don't date much. The boys at my school are...uninteresting."  
"Fielding? But isn't everyone there really rich? I bet they could take you to all the best restaurants."  
"Money can't buy everything." Elsie smiled wanly.  
"...Oh." Quinn looked disappointed. "Well, tell me about the school! What kind of stuff do they teach you at Fielding?"  
"Just the usual things. Misogyny, bigotry, dishonesty, bitchiness. At least I know I can pass one of them."  
Quinn giggled. "Elsie! You're not a...what you said."  
"Well, I'm flattered that _you_ think so. But enough about me. Give me the grand tour."

"So what do you think?" Quinn asked excitedly when they finally got to her bedroom-and more to the point, her closet and extensive collection of _Waif_ magazines.  
Elsie thought for a long moment before answering. "...Well. You're certainly...dedicated to a particular style."  
Secretly, she was appalled. A beautiful girl like this Quinn Morgendorffer, squandering her looks on halfhearted middlebrow trends! A closet full of loud and furious colors signifying nothing. And as for the magazines, well...  
Something of Elsie's disappointment must have surfaced on her face, because Quinn suddenly looked worried.  
"No good?"  
"Not to sell you short, Quinn. You're one of those rare people with the ability to look good wearing and doing anything. Most people don't have that. I know I don't. However...you could be making so much more of that potential."  
Quinn looked dazed. "But I do everything the magazines say! I keep up with every style change, every 'hot' and 'not'! And I listen to Sandi! Well, except when she's wrong."  
"You're the same age as I am, right? Sixteen?"  
"Yeah..."  
"Then you're old enough to know the truth. Fashion-true fashion, as the Sloanes and others like us have always understood it-is not about what you keep up with. It's about what you keep. None of the small changes are really important," Elsie held up an issue of _Waif_. "Take this magazine. Chartreuse was in last summer. This summer, it's out. Right?"  
"Yeah, totally."  
"But soon enough, it will be in again. It happens that way all the time, Quinn. And not just for chartreuse, for every color. Every trend. Your magazines aren't telling you anything you don't know already. They just recycle old information as if it were new, and they're doing it on your allowance."  
Quinn bit her lip and looked over at her purse.  
"If you've read one or two of these, you've read them all, and you can begin to guess what they'll say before you even open them. There is nothing really new in here," Elsie nodded at the magazine and placede it back on the pile. "There is nothing really new in there." She gestured to the closet. "There is only what is worth holding on to. That is how a Sloane thinks."  
"Wow," Quinn said quietly. "So you're not just talking about fashion then, are you?"  
Elsie smiled. "No. But it's a good place to start. Especially between friends."  
At that moment, Quinn looked into her eyes and saw something different. Something she wanted to follow, to learn from. Now that was an idea to hold on to. It felt like the end of an era.

Like most eras, it was not meant to end peacefully.  
Elsie was explaining the merits of old money chic when they were interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. Quinn looked up, dreading a parental invasion. But it wasn't Mom or Dad who appeared in the doorway.  
"Um..._HI_, Daria!" she cried with forced cheerfulness.  
"Look who it is," Daria said darkly when she got over the surprise. "The Twisted Sisters."

_"And,_ apparently, the Misfits." said Sandi Griffin, with the Fashion Club right behind her.


	11. The Center Cannot Fold

Chapter 11: The Center Cannot Fold

"Wow, the gang's all here," Jane poked her head curiously in the doorway.  
Stacy looked worried. "Oh, no. We're in a gang?"  
"Yes, we are," said Daria, who hadn't taken her eyes off of Quinn. "Now we just need someone to beat up."  
"Ohhhh my, look at the time!" Quinn cried nervously. "Elsie and I totally have to be somewhere. Guys, Elsie Sloane. Elsie Sloane, guys."  
Daria didn't move. "So she is Tom's sister. Well, slap me in the face and call me insulted."  
The Club girls weren't moving either.  
"Yes indeed. Tell us more about your NEW best friend, Ka-winn."  
"Mooooore."  
Elsie gave Quinn a 'don't worry, I've got this' look. "Very charmed to meet you all, I'm sure...why, it's you!" She walked up to Tiffany. "We met at the mall, remember?"  
"Huuuuh?"  
"I helped you pick out those delightful boots," Elsie smiled.  
Sandi looked unsure. "Tiffany? You know her?"  
"Oh, yeeeeah. Hi." Tiffany nodded. "Thanks. They do make me look thinnerrrr."  
"TIFFANY dear...I hardly think we need any fashion advice from someone...er..." Sandi glared and looked over Elsie's outfit, struggling to find something wrong with it. "...Someone trying much too hard to look preppy!"  
Elsie glared back. _"Trying_ to look preppy?"  
"Well, obviously no one from Fielding would be caught dead here. Which leaves only the people who are _pretending_ they're better than everyone else."  
"Not everyone," Elsie said coldly as she displayed her Winged Tree Country Club membership card. "But I could make an exception for you."  
Sandi gawked at the card, momentarily speechless. Quinn took the opportunity to jump in.  
"Guys, don't fight! You're both really cute and superior and stuff!"  
"Gee, Quinn," Sandi crossed her arms and looked away. "Apparently one friend like that just wasn't enough for you. But I'm SO happy to see that your social circle is expanding so far beyond us. Obviously, you're in such good company that you don't even need the Fashion Club."  
"Oh Sandi, don't be silly! I don't think that-"  
"Quinn, as your _former_ best friend I would just hate to hold you down. So please don't trouble yourself. As of now, you may consider yourself relieved of your Fashion Club duties."  
The other two members audibly gasped. Quinn's mouth fell open. "But...but, Sandi...I...you..."  
"Please don't mind us. Enjoy uttering monosyllables with your fellow preppies. We can find our own way out," the President said bitterly, turning to a shocked Stacy and a bewildered Tiffany. "Come along, girls."  
Stacy didn't move. She stood clenching and unclenching her fists, looking from one side of the rosy battlefield to the other.  
"Stacy, is your brain also malfunctioning? I said, let's go." Sandi snapped.  
The girl almost said "eep." Her lips actually opened, then closed again.  
"STAY-ceeee..." Now she was getting the evil eye.  
"Just be quiet, Sandi!" Stacy squeaked. The words had burst out before she could stop them. "...Oh no. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say that. But if...if Quinn's not in the Fashion Club...I don't want to be in it either!"  
The prez was taken aback. First Quinn, now Stacy. Had everybody turned against her? In desperation, she turned to the last person she would usually go to for answers. "Um...Tiffany?!"  
"Quinn and Stacy are sooooo prettyyy."  
Sandi's face had turned pinker than her lipstick. "W-well...fine! What an amusing coincidence, because today I was going to announce the complete dissolution of the Fashion Ca-lub!"  
"Oh no!"  
"Huuuuh?"  
Now desperate to save face, Sandi grimly forged ahead. "Yes, I find that _your_ precious club no longer serves my needs as a multi-faceted young woman of today. I have chosen to drop you like the bad habits you are and find some more loyal friends to rule over Lawndale High. Farewell."  
She stormed out of the room. Moments later, they heard her car peeling rubber down the street.  
"I apologize, Quinn," Elsie looked very unsettled. "I didn't mean to..."  
"No, it's my fault!" Stacy broke in. "I should have stopped her from coming over here. I'm so stupid!"  
"Was it my boooots?" Tiffany wondered aloud.  
Quinn shook her head sadly. She didn't say anything.

Daria and Jane didn't stick around to watch them pick up the pieces. They simply retreated to Daria's room.  
"Dammit," the brain groaned as she collapsed on the creaky bed. "I can't even get mad at her now. Her best friend already kicked her skinny butt to the curb. What more can I do to her?"  
"Hope a truck comes along?" Jane shrugged.  
"I wrote that fantasy two years ago. Besides, she's already crushed."  
A gloomy silence settled over them.  
"I don't get it. Why would she run off Tom one day and hang out with his sister the next? Maybe Sandi's right for once, and she's just using this whole thing to hang out with someone even more stuck-up."  
Jane had been studying a hydrochephalic skull replica with amusement. Now she looked up and frowned. "Daria, you know Quinn better than I do, but would she really go to that much trouble at that much risk to her popularity? Plus Elsie would never go for it. Hell, she wouldn't even be down here without a good reason."  
"How do you know?"  
Jane looked uncertain, as if she were wondering how much to reveal. "Well, the Sloanes definitely come from the land of the Muffys, but it's not like they're jerks or anything. Elsie...well, she has a couple of problems. And I don't mean just her attitude," she added before Daria could say anything. "Yeah, she's a snob, but trust me on this one, _amiga._ If she can step outside her little world just to hang out with someone, that someone can't be all bad."  
Daria sighed. Maybe she was right. There was no way Quinn could fake all the sincerity she had shown this month. She had seen her sister trying to act; it wasn't pretty. "So then what's going on?"  
"Well, you could just ask them. Or you could hide your feelings of resentment for years, nurturing your hatred until it explodes in a gruesome killing spree."  
"I don't have that kind of energy to spare," Daria stood up. "So I guess I'd better talk to her. And, speaking of hard feelings..."  
Jane raised an eyebrow.  
"...I'm glad we can talk like this again."  
"Hey, Tom's not the only one who can do morgue chat. I'm not saying everything's peachy-keen and we're going to skip off arm in arm into the sunset..."  
"Good. I was sick of that anyway."  
"...But, thanks. For not going out with him, I mean. You must have really liked him. Like I said, you and him made more sense than him and me."  
"I'll live. From what I can tell, once your life starts to make sense, it sucks even more."

The campers at the OK to Cry Corral were having their own problems. Trent was sitting half-asleep at one of the craft tables when he saw that angry kid storming out of Mr. O'Neill's office.  
"Um, keep on realizing your actuality and stuff," he said halfheartedly to the other campers. He met the kid at the exit doors. "Hey. Wait up."  
"Leave me alone!" Angry Kid retorted. "How can you stand this place?!"  
Trent shrugged. "I try to sleep through a lot of it."  
"Yeah. I noticed."  
"But I'm up now. So, if you want to go for a walk or something..."  
Angry Kid rolled his eyes. "You mean, outside? That would be _dangerous."_  
"I'm an up-and-coming rock star. I live on the edge." Trent smirked.  
He reached out and opened the door. They stepped out of the glum activities building into a beautiful 85-degree day. Usually the night held the key, but you couldn't help being inspired by this too.  
"You don't look like a star to me," the kid said.  
"It's a work in progress. The band and I are still trying to find ourselves, you know?"  
"Yeah, I know. And have some 'me time'. And 'listen to your souls' and all that crap my mom talks about."  
Trent waited for him to say more, but the kid clammed up and continued stalking along the trail. At least now he knew where his problems were coming from-that was something.  
"Well...plus I still have to get better with open D tuning." he said after a minute.  
"What's that?"  
"It gives you a richer sound," Trent shrugged. "It's a little hard to explain."  
"So show me. It's not like there's anything else to do here."  
Trent rubbed his chin. "Hmmmm."


	12. A Work in Progress

Chapter 12: A Work in Progress

"Try not to worry so much about it," Richard said gently as they pulled up to Sloane Manor. "From what you tell me, this little schism was a long time in the making. Your appearance was simply the catalyst, not the cause."  
Elsie looked hopeful. "Then you think she really meant it when she asked me to that party?"  
"Of course."  
"Good. That just leaves Mother," she sighed. "I'm always here for the Fourth. How will I ever break it to her?"  
"You're the responsible sibling, aren't you?" Richard winked. "You have leverage. The Lawndale party is at seven, fireworks at the Club start at ten; why not do both? Your friend is kind enough to give you a slice of her life, as it were; now's your chance to return the favor. I'm sure Mrs. Sloane would be thrilled to see you having someone over-even if they're not from school. Quite frankly, so am I. I'll even put in a good word for you."  
Elsie gave him one of her rare smiles. "That's perfect. You're a lifesaver, Richard. Thank you." She kissed him on the cheek and jogged up to the house. She had stayed at the Morgendorffers' a bit longer to console Quinn and chat with Stacy and Tiffany, though neither of them were very stimulating company. She was lucky to make it back in time for dinner.  
Tom waved her into the study when she entered. He was sitting disconsolately in front of their father's financial books, clearly relieved to have company. "Hey, I was wondering where you ran off to. Don't tell me-you just had to do more shopping in Lawndale, huh? I told you the place isn't so bad."  
Elsie hesitated. She didn't want to risk hurting his feelings, but at this point, didn't he deserve the truth?  
"Well, it would be safe to say that Lawndale featured this afternoon," she said cautiously, pulling a book blindly off the shelf and thumbing through it. It was Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72 by Hunter S. Thompson. When did Father add that to his collection?  
"Oh? Do tell." He swiveled the chair around and leaned forward. "I could use the entertainment."  
Elsie flipped pages without really seeing the words. "You remember those things I said, about how unwise it is to get attached to people outside our circle. How they don't understand us, and it's always too difficult to keep those relationships up, and it was silly of you to even try."  
Tom winced. "You can move on to the good part anytime, Els."  
"Well, I suppose I'll have to lay off or be a complete hypocrite." she sighed.  
If he he leaned forward any more, he would fall right out of the chair. "You met someone?"  
"Remember the mall, when I had to run one more errand after you spoke with Quinn?"  
"Sure."  
"Well...I happened to run into her again, and since her friends had left her with all those shopping bags to take out, I did my good deed for the day and helped her. From there, we just started talking and, well..."  
Tom's good mood abruptly died. "You and her? Elsie, please tell me you're joking."  
She abandoned all pretense of reading and went to replace the book. "I'm not. We hit it off, some way or another."  
"She froze me out, she wouldn't even let me talk to Daria, and she managed to talk my ear off the whole time!" he protested. "And now you're hanging out with her? Why? What could you possibly have in common besides wanting to get under my skin?"  
That made her mad. "In case you've forgotten, young Thomas-"  
"Don't call me that!"  
"-It's not always about you. Besides, I thought you wanted me to make friends."  
"With the one person who's been driving me nuts the last few weeks? That's not what I had in mind! I just broke up with her sister and thought it was all over with. Now I'm supposed to..." he stopped when he saw she hadn't turned back from the shelves and her shoulders were going stiff. "Elsie?"  
"One friend. One person my age who's not from Fielding," she said in a still voice, spitting the last word out like spoiled milk. The 'jaded rich girl' act was over. "That's what I care about. And all you can do is make me the villain in your little soap opera?"  
Tom stood up. "Look, Elsie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...Elsie, wait."  
"I should have known I couldn't trust you!" Elsie erupted. She stormed out of the room, her face red. He heard her door slam upstairs.  
Tom sank back into the chair. "Damn it."  
She must care about Quinn even than she let on. Or she hated school even more than she let on. Maybe it was both.

"Jake, put the paper down," Helen strolled briskly into the living room. "That boy who's been tutoring Quinn is on his way over."  
"You mean the boy who's been dating Quinn, right?" Jake took a last look at the sports section.  
"No, Jake. Tutoring."  
Jake stared at her for a moment. "Oh! Ha ha! Good one, honey! Boy, Jake Morgendorffer sure appreciates a funny joke."  
"I'm serious, Jake. He came over here last week, remember? When we were both working late. But we're both here now and I want to make sure we have our game plan together."  
"Oh right, I remember. The guy with the really high threshold for pain! At least that's what Daria said."  
Helen counted off important points on her fingers. "I want you to stay relaxed, stay calm, and don't bother them while they're studying."  
Jake was staring off into space again. "She said he must be okay with makeovers and fashion talk during the sessions...you don't suppose he's one of those guys, do you?"  
"Jake, she was joking!"  
"I know!" Jake lied. "HA HAAAA! So what's the gameplan?"  
"When he knocks, just let him in and don't bother him by acting all nervous and crazy."  
"Oh honey," he scoffed. "I don't care if he's...you know...that way. Is he, do you think?"  
Helen groaned. As if on cue, the doorbell rang.  
Unfortunately, Jake was closer.

David Sorenson blinked in surprise as the door flew open to reveal a middle-aged guy in a nice suit with just a little too much energy. "Jake Morgendorffer! How ya doin', young man?"  
"Great, thanks. I'm here for-"  
"I know, just a second," the man turned back and yelled up the upstairs. "QUINN! Your date is here!"  
"Actually, I'm her tutor."  
"Ohhhhh, so that's you. Well, I hope you're ready for a real girl's night in!" Jake winked.  
"What?"  
"JAKE..." growled an even more professional and stressed out woman. She practically shoved her husband aside. "Hello! So sorry we missed you last week! You'll have to excuse my husband. He's just insane."  
"Hey!" Jake protested.  
"Our daughter's education really is important to us. We've all just...fallen a bit behind, I suppose."  
"Yeah! What do you think? Is she ready for Middleton yet?"  
Middleton? I wouldn't recommend that place to my remedial students. David balked slightly at the parental onslaught. They seemed so intent on talking to him that he couldn't even get through the door.  
David cleared his throat loudly. "Well, there's still quite a bit of work to do, Mr. and Mrs. Morgendorffer. And if you wouldn't mind letting me in..."  
"Why, sure!" Jake grinned. "No bigots in this family! Not like my old man. Always judging everybody! 'Don't play with those kids next door, Jakey! They're Jehovah's Witnesses.' Well, they were nice to me, dammit!"  
"Muh-OMMM! Dad! Stop 'interring' my tutor!" Quinn finally appeared and shooed them away. David was never so happy to see her.  
"You mean 'interrogating', Quinn. But at least you tried to use one of our words from last week."  
Quinn grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. "Don't look to the left or right. Nothing to see here. Just run for the dining room. No one ever uses it."  
"I can see how that would be beneficial."  
"What's that? The new yogurt on TV?"  
"No."  
They walked briskly through the kitchen. Quinn's sister was standing at the door to the dining room. She was serious, neutral, and modestly dressed; the exact opposite of his pupil. David caught a glimpse of the 'KEEP OUT! CUTE GIRL STUDYING' sign on the dining room door as she opened it for them.  
"Take cover. I'll hold them off," the sister said, referring to their parents.  
"Thanks, Daria." Quinn pulled him inside. When the door shut behind them, she dropped into a chair with her head in her hands. "I'm really sorry, David. Oh my God, I could die! They always embarrass me like this! I don't know how you can stand to come back here."  
"Don't feel bad on my account. I'm used to it. Now, are you ready to pick up with the Middle Ages?"  
"Are we STILL on the Middle Ages? God, things were so depressing then, and everyone was so short. Plus I really wanted to call Elsie, and she goes to bed so early!"  
David waved his finger at her. "Quinn, remember our motto..."  
"Fine," Quinn heaved a sigh. "I care. I want to do better."  
He smiled. "That's why I come back here."  
Quinn smiled back, with an odd fluttery feeling in her chest.  
He's kind of cute.

"I messed that up, didn't I?" Jake asked.  
His wife continued rummaging through her briefcase, not answering.  
"Damn it. I always do that."  
"Jake, it wouldn't happen if you'd just concentrate on what you're doing. I swear, I've told you that a thousand times."  
Jake brooded silently. She was right. But he couldn't concentrate. Mad Dog was always out there, even if he was dead now-it made no difference in his mind.  
His father always ruined everything.  
Jake picked up the newspaper. There was one thing he understood about his oldest daughter, even if he never mentioned it: he knew why she read. She did it to give herself something else to think about, to escape.  
He checked the stock exchange. Grace, Sloane, and Page was up three percent. Landon Enterprises was steady. Ultra Cola was down. And as long as he kept reading this, his father was nowhere.  
Perfect.


End file.
